


Mama

by protectoroffaeries



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Acceptance, Alex is an idiot tbh, Family, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, mothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 07:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11412936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protectoroffaeries/pseuds/protectoroffaeries
Summary: Alex's mom comes to visit.





	Mama

Alex doesn't talk much about his mother - or his family or his childhood in general. John gets the impression that it was rough, but he doesn't know any of the specifics. He knows Alex grew up on an island in the Caribbean, but he can't even remember Alex mentioning which one. So it's a little shocking when one day Alex says, casually, like they're talking about where to get dinner: “My mom's coming to visit next week.” He half-assumed Alex's mother was dead, probably because his own _and_ Lafayette's are.

John remembers his mother in painful detail. Her laugh. The way she smelled. How she brushed her fingers through her hair all the time. He was fifteen when she died, too old for her to be a shapeless memory like she is for Polly. He sees her in full color when his mind drifts to her. He remembers her full of life.

She died suddenly, unexpectedly - and even now, almost nine years later, John gets trapped in the memory of her death, of rushing to the hospital, of his father’s emotionless face. Of Marth’s screaming. Of his own emptiness. They call it an accident, which John finds funny in a twisted, not-funny way, because she was killed by a drunk driver. But his father always says _car accident,_ and everyone echoes him. Except John, because he doesn't talk about her.

“What?”

“My mom,” Alex repeats, and John glances over at him. He's lounging on the couch, looking at something on his laptop, but John can see the edges of his sheepish expression. “She's coming for a visit.”

“Your mom,” John says dumbly.

“My mom,” says Alex for the third time.

“She’s… you never talk about her.” John catches himself, stops himself from says she's alive?

Alex shrugs one shoulder, but John knows him better than that. He's nervous about something. His mother? Or his mother interacting with the life he's built in New York? “Well, you know, you and Laf…”

Or maybe the nerves have less to do with Alex's mother and more to do with John's. “You're allowed to talk about your mom around me,” John says. He doesn't know how he feels about this yet, the fact that Alex hasn't talked about his mom because he's the only one who still has a living mom. He feels a lot. He feels nothing.

An awkward silence falls between them. John looks down at the glass he was about to pick up when Alex spoke. He's not really thirsty anymore.

“...I'm sorry,” Alex says.

“If it-” John begins, and then he has to try again. “If you thought talking about her would hurt me, why'd you suddenly bring up her visiting?” _Without asking me._

Alex sighs, a long exhale heavy with guilt. Well. At least he knows he's being a bastard. “I tried to convince her to stay home. She's been wanting to visit for years, and she… she bought the plane ticket without talking to me beforehand.”

For years. He and Alex have been dating for two and a half, almost three. “If you'd told me, she could've come earlier.”

Alex winces. “It's not just… she can't really afford to make a trip here. And I'm not out to her.” John doesn't know if that makes him feel like less of the problem or more.

“I'm sorry,” Alex says again.

“It's… not okay, exactly, because I wish you wouldn't keep this stuff from me,” John tells him after a moment’s consideration. “You can talk to me about anything, you know?”

Alex nods.

And John thinks they _are_ okay after that. Alex starts to mention his mother in passing: _she's obsessed with tea, she would sit and watch the sunset every night if she could, she never takes any of my bullshit, John._ John likes to hear about her. He imagines Alex looks like her, but he thinks she's probably less abrasive and obnoxious than her son.

John's not worried about her visit, per say, but he does feel a few nerves bouncing around his stomach the night before she's supposed to arrive. When he climbs into bed, Alex is still tapping away on his phone, which isn't unusual.

 _“Fuck,”_ Alex says _._

“What?”

“My fucking boss- I have to work tomorrow morning,” Alex says, glaring at his phone. Alex's boss is kind of a dick, and Alex tends to make the situation worse with his general personality. Which means that if he doesn't show up for work tomorrow, it'll somehow be his fault. Even though he apparently took the day off long before he told John that his mother was going.

“I can pick her up,” John offers before he actually thinks about it.

Alex chews his lip for a second, eyes still on his phone. “I would really appreciate that.”

That's how John ends up at the airport at 9:30 the next morning. By himself. And by by himself, he means in a huge crowd of strangers looking for his boyfriend’s mother, who he doesn't even know. All he has is a fuzzy picture of her and a not-so-reassuring, “She's seen plenty of pictures of you; she'll be able to find you.”

John stands there for about an hour; for the first twenty minutes, people aren't even coming off the plane. When Alex's mom finally appears, John (thankfully) recognizes her immediately, although no thanks to the picture Alex gave him. She looks a bit like him (or, he looks a bit like her), but it's the way she tells the man who tries to carry her suitcase for her that he needs to stop that and then smacks his hand away when he doesn't listen that really reminds John of Alex.

“Mrs. Hamilton?” John says when she wheels her suitcase past him (all by herself).

She pauses, and a little half-smirk grows on her face, which also reminds John of Alex. “Ms. Faucette,” she corrects him with an accent that Alex doesn't have anymore. “You must be John.”

 _That would've been nice to fucking know, Alex,_ John curses mentally.

Ms. Faucette extends her hand, and John shakes it, feeling incredibly awkward. “Rachel Faucette,” she says, “you look terrified.”

“Uh, John Laurens,” he says dumbly, “I am, a little.” He didn't have the time to think of a better response, okay?

Ms. Faucette laughs, and damn, that's Alex's laugh. John wonders if _he’s_ this much like _his_ mother. “I am nervous, too. I have never met one of Alexander’s boyfriends.”

John freezes. He remembers very distinctly that Alex isn't out to his mom. Maybe she misspoke? Meant guy friend? But then… didn't Alex have friends as a kid?

“Is something wrong, John?”

“Uh…”

Ms. Faucette gives him an odd look, but she doesn't question his weak response. At least, not right away: “We can speak freely once we are away from this mass of people.” John is more than happy to lead her through the crowd and out of the airport. He doesn't offer to take her suitcase because she didn't seem to appreciate the last man’s help, but she does let him toss it in the back of his car.

When they're in the car, John texts Alex and tells him that the pick was successful, along with an annoyed _could've told me her fuckin’ name, asshat._ Alex, of course, doesn't respond. He doesn't get off work until the afternoon.

“You seemed unnerved by comment,” Ms. Faucette says after John puts his phone down and pulls out of the parking lot. “Are you not in a relationship with my son?”

“I- he said you didn't know. That, uh, he's interested in men, too.” John cringes at both his stammering and his word choice.

Ms. Faucette laughs again. She's quicker to laugh than Alex is. “I have known since he was young. He simply hasn’t told me himself yet.”

“Oh.” John's not sure how else to respond to that. He supposes that she suspected before Alex himself gave it a thought. Did John's mom know, too? His heart feels heavy at the unspoken truth; he'll never be able to ask.

“But, you are his boyfriend, yes?” she prompts when it becomes obvious John doesn't have anything else to say.

“...I am,” John admits, because really, what's the harm if she already knows Alex is bi?

“I thought as much. He talks about you more than anyone. Ha, he probably thinks he's clever, trying to keep secrets from his mother, but he forgets where he got his brain.” Ms. Faucette taps the side of her head.

John is excited to hear that Alex talks about him, but John also feels a little bad because he would bet he knows considerably less about her than she does about him. Oh, well. That's Alex's fault. “I wish I could say the same about you,” John says tentatively.

Surprisingly, Ms. Faucette waves away his concerns. “It is no shock that he doesn't speak of me. I doubt he speaks of any of us, or the islands. He is a smart boy, but he gets this foolish notion that his heritage is an embarrassment.” She sounds more sad for Alex, rather than upset with him.

“You think he's embarrassed of you?” John asks, and then he realizes that might be a little fucking rude. Especially considering John doesn't know how Alex actually feels about his family or the island he grew up on (which is apparently called Nevis, John learned this week).

“I cannot think of another reason why he wouldn't want to see me,” Ms. Faucette says. She's more casual about the way she feels than Alex is. Alex always seems afraid that someone is going to use his feelings against him.

“Well,” says John, even though it's not exactly his place, “I think that has more to do with me. My mom died when I was sixteen,” and it still hurts so much when he says it, “and I think he didn't want to talk about you or invite you here out of some misplaced fear that it might upset me.”

“Oh, that sounds like Alexander,” murmurs Ms. Faucette, but it doesn't sound complimentary. Rather, she sounds annoyed with him. John is confused.

They make the rest of the trip home in silence. It's not awkward or anything; it's just that they don't have anything else to say to each other. When they get to the apartment building, John carries the suitcase up the stairs, and Ms. Faucette gives him a look, but she doesn't insist on carrying it herself.

Inside the apartment, John leaves the suitcase by the door. He thinks they'll probably rearrange how they're sleeping, what with Alex's mom knowing about them. Their apartment is a two-bedroom, left over from the days when they were just roommates, and Alex told John he'd probably have to sleep in his old room, while he himself slept on the couch. To avoid suspicion and shit.

Ms. Faucette loiters by the door, picking up one of the framed pictures they have sitting around. Peggy always gives people pictures as presents, which is honestly why they have any sitting out at all. “Who is in this picture, John?” she asks.

John looks over her shoulder; it's a picture from Alex's last birthday. He and Alex are in it, but so are Angelica, Maria, and Lafayette. They're all laughing at something John can't remember. “Angelica Schuyler, Maria Lewis, and Gil de Lafayette,” he tells her, pointing at each of them in turn.

John can tell that she recognizes their names. And she knew his name. But Alex said she'd seen pictures, didn't he? Did he mean only pictures of John? That's not suspicious.

“Do you know when Alexander will be home?” she asks, setting the picture down.

“Soon, I suspect,” John says, although he knows it'll be at least another hour.

The hour passes in near silence. Ms. Faucette wanders around the apartment, inspecting all the pictures and occasionally asking about the identities of their other friends. John sits on the couch and pretends to watch TV. He still feels on edge, although Alex's mom seems nice enough. She's still his mom.

Alex bursts through the front door in a flurry of motion when the hour’s up, and John mentally pats himself on the back for his good timing instincts.

 _"Alexander,"_ gasps Ms. Faucette, and she immediately wraps her son in a fierce hug. Alex hugs her back at least as tightly. It's sweet.

“Hi, Mama, how are you? How was your flight?” he says in English, though apparently he grew up speaking more French and Spanish than English. John did actually know that tidbit before this past week. Well. Alex knows they don't need to speak English on his account.

“Too long,” she says. “But it is very good to see you.” She holds him at arm’s length. “You've grown.”

Alex smiles at his mother awkwardly. John knows he's a little self-conscious about his weight, but from the way his mom said it, she seems glad that he's not as thin as he was when he left Nevis. (John remembers Alex back when they first met; he was scrawny as hell.) He almost thinks Alex's mother misses how Alex feels, but there's a particular twinkle in her eye and a crease in her brow that makes John think she did pick up on it.

“Your boyfriend is kind, I like him,” she says, changing the subject entirely, and John jumps at the direct comment about him. That's good, though. He wants her to like him.

“My what, Mama?” Alex says, trying to play it off with a nervous laugh.

“Do not try to play the fool with me, Alex,” she says, and that's interesting. She's been referring to him as Alexander all morning. “I am not so dense.”

“I-” Alex begins, but John shakes his head. No use lying. “How did you know?”

Ms. Faucette laughs. _“John does this, John does that, John makes me laugh, I had lunch with John today,”_ she says in a poor imitation of Alex, _“John walks on water.”_

“I- I am not that obvious!” Alex says, cheeks turning red.

Ms. Faucette gives Alex a little pat on the shoulder, which is surely her way of saying, _yes, you are._

John can't help but smile.

**Author's Note:**

> John calls Alex's mom Ms. Faucette instead of Rachel because he's a good Southern boy. (Although, the first time he says that, she'll probably tell him to knock it off.)


End file.
